The Purified Requiem
by Phiso
Summary: “It is true, then. We are the only ones in mourning.”


This is the first Digmon fanfiction I've written in about five years, completed in 3 days with a mad amount of editing and rewriting done. I must admit, I haven't worked so feverishly on a story since Adieu. I tried to get outside opinions, but they're unusually difficult to find, so this really hasn't been edited by anyone besides me, really.

Expect this to be reloaded multiple times, especially since I am encouraging you guys to give me constructive criticism. Also, please tell me if I accidentally went past tense anywhere; staying with the present and a few subjunctives is unusually difficult for me.

If anyone knows if either Mimi or Yamato add suffixes to each others' names, please tell me and if possible send me proof. I would love you forever if you did, and your name would go under my Thank You list. :D

Oh yes, before I forget, this is based on the beginning of episode 43 of Digimon Adventures 01, right after Whalemon dies alongside Metalsedramon.

Disclaimer: If I owned Digimon, Mimato would be canon.

  
  


The Purified Requiem

  


_Although the people living across the ocean surrounding us, I believe, are all our brothers and sisters-why are there constant troubles in this world?  
Why do winds and waves rise in the ocean surrounding us?  
I only earnestly wish that the wind will soon puff away all the clouds which are hanging over the tops of the mountains._

_---A Shinto Prayer for Peace_

  


I don't like to show weakness. It doesn't suit me. I don't cry, I don't complain, I don't show emotion. Instead, I try to protect others, pushing my feeling to the back of my mind and focusing on another's. I often end up coming off cold, but I've gotten used to it. It has helped me avoid company I'd rather not have, and whenever necessary, I retreat back into that sense of being, knowing that it has gotten me this far and it cannot possibly fail me now.

Right now, it's not difficult to put that stony face back on. Sure, Wargreymon just annihilated Metalsedramon, one of the four Dark Masters, but the victory came with a price: a price Whalemon paid.

I'm not fond of death. I've never liked watching others die, even if they were the ones who were originally trying to kill us first. It's my sense of duty more than anything that has kept me going. But in these sorts of situations, I have to put my frozen wall back up. Otherwise, I might go mad.

Everyone's wailing ends quickly as the water recedes from the towering mass of elements above us, replaced by sounds of awe. Soon, rapid bursts of conversation fill the air, discussing the phenomenon and what it could mean. I tune it out quickly; I don't believe now is the time for celebration or contemplation. I quietly mourn.

Suddenly, a new sound reaches my ears: it is the sound of soft crying. For a moment, my heart stops as Takeru's name crosses my mind, but the alarm is soon subdued with the sound of my brother's voice in the aforementioned conversation. So who could it be?

I turn to discover Palmon consoling a weeping Mimi. I watch her, unable to tear my eyes away from her. Out of everyone, she is the only other person mourning, the only one who fully realizes what just happened. I feel a rare connection to her now, a sorrowful chill speaking of the deaths of our friends.

I sigh, but in that instant Palmon cries out and my attention is immediately back on Mimi. She seems to be going crazy in her grief, because she's digging in the sand frantically, making large, uneven piles. Every now and then she comes across a tiny stick, frail and weak, and puts it in small stack near one of the piles. What is she doing?

A second later the answer to my question hits me like a brick: she's making graves. I count one, two, three, four sloppy hills, and eight delicate branches in the stack. Palmon now understands as well, and is helping her friend straighten the small lumps out into presentable tombs. Mimi soon tires, but is still sluggishly working away, determined to finish. Everyone else is still talking, her activities unknown.

It is true, then. We are the only ones in mourning.

The urge to assist the weary girl is strong, but I am hesitant. I am not known for my sentimentality and for me to reveal it to Mimi of all people makes me nervous. She, like the others, accepts me as a person and friend, but rarely confides in me or sees any sort of vulnerability in me. I overheard her once, near the beginning of our journeys, tell Sora that she feared me, and avoided speaking to me because she was scared that I would scoff or snarl at her personality. Sora, of course, assured her that I would not bite, and that I was probably more than anything just as nervous as she was around strangers. To be honest, sometimes I wonder if she's still afraid of me, though I doubt I've helped in quelling that fear. Now, thought, it seems as though the tables have turned: now I'm the one who's scared.

Finally, I make up my mind and decide to help. I walk off a short distance, scanning the sandy beach in order to find stronger, thicker pieces of wood, ones I know will stand on their own. Finding eight is not difficult, and I make my way back to Mimi's small graveyard with my heart threatening to beat right out of my chest.

Coming and helping her make a memorial for our fallen comrades is an unusual show of tender emotion for me, and I must admit I dread her reaction. She wouldn't turn me away, would she? Surely, she won't think I'm trying to mock her or anything, right?

I'm not sure.

Mimi looks up as I come towards her and stops for a moment. I can't read her eyes, and I unconsciously hold my breath. What could be crossing her mind? Palmon too slowly comes to a halt, looking between us with a confused expression on her face.

"Mimi…?" Palmon ventures, looking at her partner in concern.

There is a brief silence, and my face is slowly but surely turning red. The air between us is tense, and I get the feeling that her fear of me has not completely gone away. Slightly embarrassed about my uninvited disturbance, I swallow nervously before managing, "I brought some sticks. They should be able to stand better than the ones you found. Not that, um, the ones you found were, erm, bad…" I trail off, rather insecure. I wish I could show her that I care about our lost friends as much as she does, but my mind is blank. The words don't come.

She studies me for a moment, and I am about ready to burst from anxiety as her caramel eyes bore into my sapphire ones. Again, I find myself wondering what she's thinking.

"A-arigatou," she murmurs at last, looking down. "Could you, um, tie them into crosses?"

I nod, kneeling down in front of her. Staring at the two lumpy piles of sand in between us, I realize I have nothing to tie them with, and say so.

Mimi says nothing in reply; instead, she begins to rummage through her purse in search of string. I watch her silently, and deep down I believe that we both know she doesn't have any. It's just not her in character to think of packing a roll of string before saying good-bye to her parents and jetting off to save the world.

She unpacks a few newer cans of gas, her pocket knife, and other things she had been carrying around since the beginning of our quest. She may have thought of getting replacements of our previously used items, but no where do I see string. Nevertheless, she continues to dig through her worn purse, as if simply wishing for a thing could make it magically appear in one's messenger bag.

After she is absolutely sure that she there is nothing left in her bag, she stops, looking at me helplessly. I squirm, not sure of what to say. What _can_ I say?

"Hey! I know!" says Palmon, breaking the awkward silence. "I can find vines to tie them with, and he can help you with the piles. I'm no good at sculpting anyway."

Mimi again turns her gaze towards her knees and nods. I hand my small offering of peace to Palmon, who promptly hurries off to find her materials.

I am now alone with Mimi, sort of, and once again I find myself mute. After a short pause, she begins to work on the pile in front of her, lovingly smoothing out the lumps as well as she can. After a few seconds, I follow suit and begin smoothing out the pile in front of me.

This is a lot harder than I thought; how Mimi manages it so quickly is beyond me. Before I know it, she's on her second one, and I'm still stumbling on the first. Her eyes flicker up towards my face, and I flush as a sad chuckle escapes her lips.

"I'm afraid mine is going to end up a little lumpier than yours," I mutter, uselessly making the small hill in front of me worse.

"That's okay," she replies softly. "It's the thought that counts."

I look up at her, surprised. For some unfathomable reason, I'm caught off guard, unused to hearing those words spoken in such a gentle tone.

I'm not exactly sure what it is, but Mimi has something in her, something that I rarely see. She has an innocence about her, a caring nature that forgives and forgets easily and always smoothes out the lumps of life gently and painlessly. It occurs to me that she is extending this to me, this same friendship and love that make her kneel in the sand and construct graves for her deceased friends, despite the fact that it's spoiling her dress and gloves. A part of me questions why I haven't gotten closer to her before. Another part of me questions whether I am good enough.

Suddenly, I see a tear roll down her face. I tense up, wondering if I am the cause of her sadness. Mimi must sense my discomfort, because she says quickly, "I'm sorry, I'm being a baby. It's not your fault, it's just…"

Before she can utter another word, I see her choke back a sob with an immense effort. She looks at me head on, and my heart breaks.

Mimi is not like me. She is not afraid to show her emotions. It doesn't matter if she is sad, happy, angry, or bored, you will always be able to tell what she's feeling, and right now, I can see in her eyes that she wishes everything would go back to how they were before. Mimi has always been a passive creature, and while she and Lillymon are a capable team, they don't like to fight to the death, not like Taichi and some of the others. She never made the decision I did, to kill or be killed. Instead, she relies on our protection, and being an older brother already, I am more than willing to provide. She, she is more like a nurse than a fighter. Mimi is the one who keeps our spirits up, the one we can rely on to take care of Takeru or Hikari or any other precious thing when necessary, the one who sings us to sleep when it is beyond our grasp. Perpetually in high spirits, it is disconcerting to see her truly upset, and the expression on her face right now is almost too much to bear.

"Mimi," I say quietly, "It's okay."

The look in her eyes now has some puzzlement mixed in with the sorrow. I elaborate.

"I mean," I continue, trying to make her understand. I know what she wants: she wants to stop fighting, to live in peace, and as a natural protector, I would prefer that sort of life myself. "I miss them too, and I'm not particularly eager to start fighting again either."

I wouldn't trade her reaction for anything in the world. Suddenly, she's Mimi again - her eyes are lit up, her face is glowing. It seems as if hope has at last come to her aid; a kindred spirit who isn't bent on destroying every enemy they come across. I feel unusually proud to have caused this, as if I've redeemed myself in her pure eyes. I feel like I deserve her friendship now.

Suddenly, I feel like I'm falling; I look down and see that my hand has now made a cave in the small hill below me. I must have been leaning in farther than I thought.

Mimi giggles, and my eyes travel up to her face. She isn't crying anymore; instead, she seems to be torn between laughing at me and keeping her solemn silence. I give her a sheepish grin, and she in return flashes me a sad smile. It is but a remnant of what it used to be, but it is better than nothing.

"Thank you, Yamato," she whispers.

"No problem," I reply.

Mimi looks at my pile for a second, and I notice that she has already finished the other three. I stare at mine, feeling rather incompetent, but Mimi simply stands up and walks over to my side. Kneeling down beside me, she straightens the pile easily.

The air between us isn't so stressed anymore. Her body is relaxed, calm; her eyes no longer match her hat. If one didn't know any better, it would appear as if we were just a couple of friends making unusually round and shapeless sand castles by the beach.

I spot Palmon running towards us, four small crosses in her arms. I straighten up, but Mimi continues to work on my pile, smoothing out the last lumps.

"Here you go Mimi," Palmon says, handing over the small markers. Mimi takes them and slowly stands them in the graves, staring at each cross for a long time before holding them to her heart and mumbling a small prayer. I step back, feeling like an intruder, but Mimi brushes her hand against my fingers.

"Don't go." Her voice is sad, pleading. She wants my company, and I am glad to give it to her.

Together, we finish our makeshift graveyard, whispers of pure intentions friendship coursing through our prayers.


End file.
